CarizzCruzem

Today, my maternal grandfather, Jupiter L. Delapaz, dies.

My first encounter with death in the immediate family was when before I could even know my own age. It was my paternal grandfather, which we all call Dad. I remember this Sampaguita planted beside the house in Tabing Ilog. I would pick Sampaguita flowers and put on his casket. Then, I don’t know, perhaps I would go and play or whatever a kid did in those days, I can’t remember. I only know that after a while, I would check on the casket and see that my Sampaguita flowers were gone. So I would pick some flowers again, put on his casket, do kid things, check on the casket after some time, see my flowers gone, and the cycle continued; perhaps until the poor plant had been stripped off of its flowers, or maybe until the fragrant buds became high enough that I couldn't reach them.

Try as I may, I can’t recall any memory I have of Dad. But it’s different with Tatay; that’s how we call our maternal grandfather; I knew him.

He’s not perfect. There are some things that I cannot say – too painful, and even pointless, to recall. It’s just absurd to keep track of the wrongs now.

What I want to remember are the days when I was in Grade 1 that I spent in the library at his workplace while waiting for him, walking back home with him early in the afternoon and me trying to match his shadow. I want to remember the good and innocent days – the days when I was too young to pass on judgments.

I want to see you in heaven, Tay.